


Sunday Morning in the West Wing

by A Magiluna Stormwriter (ariestess)



Category: The West Wing
Genre: Canon Compliant, Gen, Some Humor
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-23
Updated: 2017-06-23
Packaged: 2018-11-17 23:07:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,084
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11278653
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ariestess/pseuds/A%20Magiluna%20Stormwriter
Summary: CJ finds herself called into work far too early on Sunday morning for Saturday night to be over yet.





	Sunday Morning in the West Wing

**Author's Note:**

  * For [greerwatson](https://archiveofourown.org/users/greerwatson/gifts).



> Spoilers: This takes place nebulously after episode 03x16 "The U.S. Poet Laureate"
> 
> More to come...

05:48a.m. EST

The incessant ringing of my cellphone can mean only one thing: something big has happened somewhere in the world. Of course, this means that I have to defuse the situation in such a way as to keep everyone from losing their shit without stealing the President's thunder. It's days like this where I kind of hate myself for even _considering_ taking on this job.

Not even bothering to look at the caller ID, I cover my eyes with my free forearm and answer the phone. "What the hell do you people have against me getting a full night's sleep? Somebody better have died or I'm gonna be pissed."

There's an uncomfortable silence on the other end of the line, and my lack of tact in the face of my lack of sleep catches up to me. Pulling back the phone, I stare at it to make sure the call is still active. Recognizing the number, my face goes cold, then hot, and I clear my throat as I bring the phone back to my ear.

"Uh, CJ?" Carol's voice is more tentative than I've ever heard it.

"Nope, that was my evil twin, JC. I've killed her in the last sixty seconds. What've you got?"

As she launches into an explanation of the situation at hand, I get up and start to rummage through my closet onehanded. I really need to get to the dry cleaners soon. Of course, that requires actual time where I can get away from my life in the West Wing. So I should be getting to that dry cleaning in about three years or so. Frowning, my eyes are drawn to the charcoal silk blouse that has a barely noticeable wine sauce stain on it. It _is_ barely noticeable, right?

"CJ, are you even listening to me?"

Her voice brings me back from such stimulating thoughts as pondering wine stained clothes for work. "Huh? Um, sorry, Carol. Can you repeat that?"

She laughs softly and starts to repeat herself, then stops mid-sentence, and I can hear another voice in the background. Josh. And Leo. Fuck. This can't be good.

"CJ, Josh said to get your lazy ass to work and use your emergency spare outfit in the back of your office closet." She pauses then and continues with a lowered voice. "You _do_ still have that outfit here, right? You haven't let your dry cle--"

"Save your breath, Carol. I wore that outfit home after Josh ran into me earlier today and christened my otherwise last clean shirt with whatever sloppy sandwich he was stuffing down his throat. I'll figure something out. And make sure I have a spare motherboard displayed prominently on my desk when I get there. Oh, and if you can do it, let Josh hear that you're requesting it for me."

The silence is palpable before she finally asks, "Why?"

The smile on my face feels downright predatory. "He'll know. Trust me. See you in like thirty minutes tops, unless there's weird traffic."

*****

Somehow I find a passably clean outfit and get to the White House in twenty-three minutes flat. That's got to be a new record, even for a Sunday morning. Maybe especially for a Sunday morning. I'm really not sure; the caffeine hasn't kicked in yet. Silently praising whatever deity is in charge of easy commutes, I meet up with Carol about halfway to my office. She passes a critical eye over my outfit and nods before offering me the stack of folders in her hand, explaining more of what's happened since we hung up. My office door is open, which is weird enough, but I can hear voices in there and I don't like it. Glancing at Carol, she shrugs apologetically and heads back to her desk to do whatever it was she was doing before I showed up. Does she ever leave this place?

"Seriously?" I ask as I step into my office to see Josh on my couch while Toby and Sam are debating and pacing in front of my desk. 

"Leo wants to see us in his office as soon as you get up to speed," Sam says, looking way too earnest for this ungodly hour of the morning. "We were hoping that you'd have an idea already of how we can spin this."

"Hey, I just spew what you say to the press. Coming up with an angle to spin isn't in my paygrade. Isn't that _your_ job? Or Toby's? And for that matter, don't you boys have offices of your own? Or did you just need Mommy to soothe your nightmares away?" I settle in my chair and open up the first folder. "I don't even fully know what the hell is going on, Sam, so I'd like to know how you think I can spin anything right now."

Josh chuckles, but doesn't get up. "Sounds like somebody needs her coff--" His words trail off as Carol comes in with a garment bag and a long flat box and hands the former to me first.

"Apparently you had a spare, spare outfit in Donna's office. She just brought this over and apologized for the mix up of the dry cleaners delivering it to her instead of me by accident. Oh, and here's that motherboard you were asking about, CJ," she says, a twinkle in her eyes that Josh can't see from behind her.

"Thank you, Carol," I reply, taking the box that feels empty. "Tell the guys in IT that I'll talk to them later about safe extraction procedures later, okay?"

"Yes, ma'am," is all she says as she turns to hang the bag on my closet door, then walks out.

This gives me the opportunity to stare at the three men loitering in my office. Toby and Sam keep glancing at Josh, who is staring at the box next to me. It takes everything in me not to laugh at him. He deserves this for that lazy ass comment earlier. 

"Now, what the hell is going on that you needed to get me out of bed before the sun on a Sunday morning? And if it's not a good enough reason, I have a perfectly good motherboard here that needs a new home."

As the three of them launch into a Three Stooges routine to explain things to me, I start skimming the content of the folders and prepare for a very long day that will likely end later than yesterday did.


End file.
